Damien
by Saikia
Summary: Damien, son of the deceased Unique, finds a home in the Montastary for Rescused Orphans, who all have some origin to the old Wish House, and everyone he meets also has connections. With Silent Hill in ashes, will this be the last chapter to a nightmare?
1. Prologue

Prologue 

And so began a new day in July. Atop the grass of a nearby graveyard, a marble headstone is placed in a plain fashion. Crooked, rather, as though the one person who cared to place it hadn't had much care at all.

Who was this troubled soul that lied six feet under, in the cold, moist ground, as the rain starts pouring down? The heavens cry for her innocence, as though only God himself knew that she were born with a curse, her family, as well, and dragged into the hell-hole town that existed on this earth: Silent Hill.

The engraved marble reads "Unique Du'Shat, born August 7, 1990." That's all it read. Not even a sentence of remourse to leave behind for the afterlife? Even the date of the death seemed insignificant.

It all began that fate-full summer. Unique, indeed a unique character who had easily outlived most albino children at the ripe age of sixteen, was blessed, yet, cursed with an amazing ability of premonition. She predicted short term fate, as that of her sister's, and then the fate of a lineage that followed her own shortly before, years ago, in the wretched town of Silent Hill.

As though ignorence is always stated as bliss, this would have proved it true. She soon learned of her own origin and just how far it would take her, whilst she continued to drag other souls with her into this hell without her own permission. She was the final source of the Dahlia bloodline, and once she discovered this, knew she had to stop it.

And so the cathedral was burned into ash, she, the only surviver after an attempt to defend herself from the loner, Daniel, her crush, cousin, and catastrophic downfall. Rushed to the hospital, she panicked when she realized that she had survived.

But had only done so for a short time.

Wretching in an unbearable pain, as though the same flames had consumed her once more, Unique died in agony as she gave birth to a six-months-premature son, who, despite his condition, breathed just as easily as a normal child would, and was kept under intense care by the staff for several years.

Fifteen years later...


	2. Nightmares

Nightmares 

"No, no, stop! Get off of me! Get it away!" screamed Damien. He was lying in bed, clutching the sheets beneath him, which had began to be soaked with perspiration. He closed his eyes tightly, and began to breathe heavier. He thrashed at his arms, his short fingernails digging deep into his flesh, making small, but deep, gashes, and he continued to cry out in pain, unaware of his actions. He dug further into his skin when the light overhead flickered on.

"Grab his arms," one voice demanded. "He's hurting himself again."

"Look, the stigmata!" cried another older woman.

"How strange," an older gentleman observed.

"Is Damien gonna be okay?" asked a small girl.

* * *

A sun glared in through the dirty windows, and into the musty room, which was still dim as the sun began to rise. The dusk created a warm, orange glow against the metal window panes, which crept up the window in streaks, creating the illusion of fire.

Damien, who slept in the corner of the room, stirred and groaned as he attempted to raise his head, then thrashed his head back against his pillow as he held his arms, bandaged, and slightly bled through, as he felt an intense burning sensation running through them.

"Damien!" cried a small girl with curly, red locks as she ran over to his bedside. She pushed back his hair from his forehead as he began to sweat profusely. Tears welled in his eyes of the pain of the burning sensation.

"Is the mark in your side hurting?" she asked, concerned.

"No, no, just my arms," Damien answered. He held back his tears and smiled. "I'm fine, Eliza. Just a scratch."

"You scratched yourself in your sleep again last night," Eliza noted.

"Yeah, I noticed," Damien replied. "Was it bad?"

"Pretty bad," she said. "Didn't see exactly how bad you hurt yourself 'cause the adults wouldn't lemme see, but I saw a lot of blood." She paused. "Do you remember any of your dreams again?"

"Actually, I do remember a church being burned down, but that's all I remembered," he said sadly.

"Don't worry," Eliza said, smiling assuringly, "we'll figure this out."

"I sure hope so," Damien said.

Silence.

"Didn't you say that a psychiatrist was supposed to come by today?" asked Damien.

"I think I heard Sister Catherine say that, yeah," she replied.

Damien groaned, leaning back against his pillow, resting his injured arm against his brow. "They tried to send me to the insane asylum last time."

"I don't think the nuns want to do that to you," Eliza assured. "That nut shrink tried to, but they refused to have you taken away." Another pause. "Maybe if they can get you into work soon, you'll feel a little better about yourself?"

"Well, I don't turn sixteen until next week," Damien reminded her. "So hopefully, I won't be locked up in a nice little strapped jacket by then, eh?" He smiled, trying to assure her that everything would be okay.

Eliza bought it, returning the smile. "You wanna come to the sanctuary with me? Marcus said he didn't feel like he would have the shakes this morning and wanted you to come."

Damien groaned as he sat up again. "I'd love to, but it seems like every time I get into the sanctuary, my body feels like it's on fire. I get so hot in there and feel like I can't breathe."

"I can ask them to turn up the air conditioning," Eliza considering.

But Damien refused, and smiled. "No, thanks. I'll just read my Bible in bed if you don't mind."

"Kay," she replied. "See you after service!"

She cheerily skipped away from the sleeping quarters and down the hall in light footsteps. Damien reached under his bed for his Bible, and feeling an intense burn when he touched it's spine. He quickly pulled away in a yelp, and looked to his hand as it had gained a mallicious burn, but seconds later, disappeared.

"So many weird things have happened since last year," he said to himself, studying his hand as it eventually completely healed. The stigmata in his side felt as though it had an acute warmth to it.


	3. Explanation

Explanation 

"His name is Damien Du'shat," said Sister Catherine, lying down a manilla folder atop the scratched-surface desk of her quaint, small office. A picture of Damien when he was a small infant slipped out of the folder. "Brown hair, green eyes, born in St. Brahms Hospice. His mother died shortly after conceiving him."

"Her name was Unique Du'shat," continued Sister Linda. "She was supposedly the one who was responsible for the arson case at Silent Hill. She was involved in the Gillespie Family Curse, in which everyone involved in the family led along a legacy of strange, and horrifying, paranormal activity. From Dahlia and the cult to Walter Sullivan and then the incidents that followed with the twenty one sacraments..."

"Yes, I know," interrupted Dr. Kenneth Walker, specially trained in child psychology. "I am aware of all of the incidents that happened, but I want to know why Damien is such a troubled boy."

"He's really no trouble at all," explained Sister Catherine. "He is never mallicious with any of the children. Actually, he seems to get along with them all very well, but there are a few strange things that have happened since he was born."

"Like the nightmares," began Sister Linda.

Sister Catherine nodded. "Right. They really hadn't began until he was about ten years old. He could never remember what he dreamt, but he began having several scratches down his back, mostly severe and deep, and across his forehead, as well. Up until about three years ago, they seemed to be coming from nowhere, but Eliza, who rooms with him, has come to find that he's hurting himself."

"He has a difficult time sleeping and staying still," Sister Linda began. "At first, it was giddiness and he would roam through the hallways in the early hours of the morning, but when we heard the main doors slam open, we pursued and found he had headed outside with a sure direction of where he was going."

"To say the least, he wasn't.. thrilled about us trying to take him back," Sister Catherine began reluctantly. "That was the one and only time I can recall him being violent, actually."

"His eyes seemed to glow red!" Sister Linda explained.

"Oh, Sister, don't believe what Eliza has told you," Sister Catherine snapped. "Anyway," she continued, "he was very strong for a ten year old, and we ended up with several bruises the next day, and not just Sister Linda and I, but three other nuns who had to carry him back inside."

"We then started having the same scratches on our backs after that incident," Sister Kelly, another nun who had entered the room, began. She paused, then changed the subject. "We kept him strapped down when he went to bed for several years, he unaware why we did, but two years ago, he stopped thrashing in bed, and we assumed that he was getting better."

"Until Marcus, another one of our children, heard him screaming in his sleep another night, having a nightmare."

"How often does he have these nightmares?" asked Kenneth.

"Every other week," explained Sister Kelly.

"Or, as Eliza says, every thirteen days, but she's very superstitious," laughed Sister Catherine.

"He continued to have these nightmares, and strange things would happen every morning that the children would awaken after that dreadful screaming the night before."

"For instance," began Sister Linda, "Marcus began having seizures when Damien turned fifteen, as well as Eliza went blind in one eye.."

"...Every Sunday morning, Sarah starts feeling a pain in her chest," Sister Catherine continued, "Micky has gained a violent temper and begins throwing holy things, such as Bibles, out the window, at other children, at the walls..."

"...And Matt has been very refusal against everyone," Sister Kelly added, "and Karley claims to be seeing dead spirits..."

"And this all happened after Damien turned fifteen?" asked Kenneth, truly interested.

"Yes," they all nodded in agreement.

"But he's started remembering discreet things about his nightmares," added Sister Linda, "like the first nightmare was him being in an apartment and seeing a poltergeist coming out of the wall. He exclaimed that even after he woke up, that it was coming after him."

"And instead of finding unknown scars on him the next morning, "explained Sister Catherine, "he's began hurting himself."

"Like last night, we found him digging into his arms."

"So, he's in the sanctuary this morning?" asked Kenneth.

"He can't be around holy things," explained Sister Linda. "A Bible will burn his hands, being in a sanctuary makes him have trouble breathing, and the cross.."

"He went into cardiac arrest the last time he touched a cross," Sister Kelly said quietly.

"My God..." said Kenneth.

There was an awkward silence.

"Was there anything from when he was a baby that you find particularly interesting or strange?" asked the doctor.

They all sat in silence for a moment, pondering. "Actually, he was quite a normal child until he turned eight," said Sister Kelly.

"Actually, you forgot the stigmata!" exclaimed Sister Catherine.

"Oh, yes, that!" replied Sister Kelly.

"Stigmata?" asked Kenneth.

"It's been forming ever since he was about eight years old," explained sister Linda. "It's becoming more and more like an image everyday."

"It appears to be... a six engraved in three circles, with a triangle top formed over it."

The hair on the back of the doctor's neck stood straight up.


	4. A Greater Understanding

A Greater Understanding

"Let me assure you ladies of something," began Mr. Walker, his hands folded, staring across the table to the nuns. "If I were a psychiatrist, I would haul Damien off to an asylum so fast it would make your heads spin."

Rather uncomfortable at first, but then curious, Sister Linda asked "So, you're not a psychiatrist?"

"So, it seems you've had your share of shrinks in here before," he began. He smiled. "I'm actually a private investigator. I've been working on the investigation of the Gillespie family for the last two decades, but kept all of my archives in a private office in the attic of a condemned building in Brahms. You wouldn't believe the money the media would pay to get that kind of information."

"So, how did you retrieve it?" asked Sister Catherine.

"A good bit of it came from my daughter, Alkaline, who used to be a member of the Wish House," he explained. "According to a singed journal I found from the remains of the Gillespie Cathedral before construction began over there, a boy named Daniel was also conducting some similar theories."

"Do tell," said Sister Kelly.

"Obviously, anyone with any connections to the Gillespie family can read the memos from the stones by the Wish House, my daughter Alkaline being one of them." He stopped short, thinking to himself.

"What's wrong?" asked Sister Catherine, leaning forward.

Kenneth looked to them all, smiled, then slightly changed the subject. "The stones were from Walter Sullivan as a child when he attended the Wish House. He spoke of all the tortuous things that had happened to the other children and not to him. He spoke of how an older woman came to visit him at the Wish House, saying he was a unique child."

"Speaking of unique," began Sister Kelly, "I've heard a rumor that the mother of Damien, Unique, attended Wish House as a young girl."

Kenneth frowned. "That's impossible."

"How so?"

"The Wish House burned down twenty years ago."

"So, how was your daughter a member of there?" asked Sister Linda.

"More so a resident than a member, I meant," Kenneth explained. "I found her locked in one of the circle rooms of the tower up the road from the Wish House during my investigation."

"How did the Wish House burn down?" asked Sister Kelly.

"Are you ready for this?" He paused. "According to the clues I found leading to and from the Wish House, it seems there was a man there who had been set ablaze, but there were tracks that led to the Wish House, singed ground and grass the shape of footsteps, up to the Wish House."

"Where did the tracks start?"

"They started from the Tower, almost a mile away."

They all sat in silence.

Kenneth cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, my daughter's birthday is today, and I promised to pick her up from school early." He stood from his chair to take his leave.

"Wait," Sister Catherine urged. "There are so many things that don't make sense. Why was it impossible to get into Silent Hill? Why did so many weird things happen?"

"What about Wish House?" began Sister Linda. "What did they do to the children there?"

"Why was your daughter there?" added Sister Kelly. "Why can she read the stones?"

"And what about Damien?" they all asked in unison.

Kenneth held his head. "Please, ladies, I need to pick my daughter up!" he shouted above them, taking his overcoat and throwing it across his shoulder. He stepped out of the building and into the scorching heat of another sticky summer afternoon, but he threw his coat on. He could not keep the chills out.


	5. Absent Minded

Alkaline sat in class this warm, August afternoon. Pre-Fall, pollen floating through the air, saturating everything in a light powder of yellow, the flowers in full bloom, whispering their song through the opened windows of the classroom. Her eyes began to water.

She had anticipated this time of year for so long, only to unfortunately recall that her allergies had as well. It wouldn't be long, however, until the summer thunderstorms would begin their torrential downpour, washing away the pollen and welcoming the cooling after the heat of the day and embracing the mild evenings, which gave way to crickets and fireflies.

Only a tease of a sprinkle of rain endured all summer, and gusty winds remained all the remnants of the clouds, only causing more of a seasonal nuisance for Alkaline, but with flowers comes flowering bouqets; decorations, streamers, music, that is. The semi-annual prom was coming up, and with her face flush and blustery, eyes watering, and nose sniffling, she'd be lucky to be asked out by the red Kool-Aid punch pitcher.

Another breeze entered the classroom, lightly trailing through Alkaline's dark hair, which once complemented her dark brown eyes before they turned scarlet. Within the wind, she heard the faint roar of a vehicle roll down the sidewalk, and turned her head to face out the window. Just as she had suspected, her father was pulling up in his brand new black Ford Excursion.

It seemed the classroom felt her squirm and turned to watch the massive vehicle make it's way around the cul-de-sac and for the front entrance. Alkaline always felt so awkward when her father came to get her. He was such a dawnting figure as it was, standing at 6'1 with broad shoulders and always wearing some sort of long trench jacket, even in the summer time, as though he were set to become the next Columbine shooter. His vehicle of choice just sealed the theory that Kenneth Walker, P.I, was actually a C.I.A agent on a secret mission for the Ambassador of Israel and that his grand vehicle could actually hold several nukes in it's fold-up floor space, and every other compartment held illegal firearms and foreign currency; the wide body for the extra set of wheels actually folded within itself underwater to reveal rotors and propellors to access the underwater caves into Osama Bin Laden's lair.

It also didn't help that he wore those dark sunglasses that showed your reflection, and you couldn't tell that his peering gaze was looking into your soul.

You would think that would be any girl's dream to have a strong father figure like that, especially if you had a hard time fitting into the popular crowd, and this profile did keep others from bothering her to a bullying extent, but only under her father's request and monetary payment to the school. It was as though that Alkaline truly was the daughter of a C.I.A agent, and her father would come to pick her up occasionally only to prove his regular citizenship to the public.

Alkaline sighed a heavy sigh, the sugarplums and fairies image of prom dancing through her head had ceased as she packed her things to leave, when the whole classroom was surprised when her father stepped through the door and asked for his daughter personally, instead of first consulting the administrator.

Dumbfounded, the teacher said, "Mr. Walker, please make sure to speak to the receptionist next time before taking Alkaline home." Without even turning her head to look at Alkaline, she spoke, "Alkaline, you're dismissed."

In unison, the other students turned to watch them leave. This had happened before, her father being absent-minded and rushing into the classroom to retrieve his daughter, which almost always resulted in snickers and snares, especially since everyone knew she was "that weird Wish House girl," but today seemed silent, and it was eerie, as if they could feel Mr. Walker's tension.

They both left the school in silence after checking out properly, and Alkaline remained this way until after they both snapped on their seat belts and the car was started. She then opened her mouth to say, "You know, it's really embarrasing and hard for me to get along with all those kids at school enough without you acting like a total freak."

But her father wasn't himself, and gave no reply to her consultation, as if he were in deep thought about something.


	6. Birthday Wishes

The Excursion pulled into 23 Solstice Drive, and both Alkaline and her father stepped out of the vehicle in silence, and proceeded to the front porch.

Kenneth inserted the key into it's placed, and unlocked the deadbolt, a jarring noise being let loose, and he jumped. The jolt seemed louder somehow, and he seemed very edgy. Definetly noticing the tension, Alkaline stepped ahead of him, turned the doorknob, and proceeded into the living room, tossing her backpack on the nearest couch. Trying to lighten the weirdness that had evolved, she attempted to make some light conversation.

"So, what did you get me for my birthday?" she asked in a singsong voice.

This seemed to shake her father into a better mood, and he smiled, but then quickly returned back to serious. "Why, I forgot it was your birthday."

Almost believing this, Alkaline became infuriated. "You picked me up from school! Hello! Don't you even know what's going on? What's up with you--"

"Calm down," her father replied with a chuckle, "of course I didn't forget about your birthday. I may be old, but I'm not senile yet."

Alkaline bit her lip and stopped short, and then joined him in laughter. "Okay, well, you just seemed really bummed about something, and I know that you get a lot of cases that drag you down, but you're kind of freaking me out."

"It's just as you say," her father assured her. "I'm just bummed out. It's just something that's on my mind, is all."

Alkaline placed her hands on her hips and smirked. "Well, I'm the only thing important right now."

Kenneth smiled. "Yes, you are," he began, walking toward his daughter, reaching out to grab her shoulder. She attempted to dodge him, but to no avail; the noogie was on the way. "You're my little hunnie bunchkins."

"Yuck," Alkaline laughed, pulling away, and smoothing out her dark hair. She smiled. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too," he simply said, as Alkaline walked for the kitchen. She opened up the cabinets to find a bowl to pour some Fruit Loops in and enjoy an afternoon snack, when she looked down at the sink and realized the dishes hadn't been washed.

"You didn't wash my dishes for my birthday?" she quipped.

"I don't love you that much," he laughed.

She crossed the linoleum to the other side, and opened the refrigerator, then glanced across the countertops. "No birthday cake?"

"I thought you said you were trying to lose weight," Kenneth laughed.

"Dad!" Alkaline snapped.

"I couldn't afford it," he replied.

"Couldn't afford... me a cake?" she asked sadly.

"Yep, seems I'm pretty broke," he admitted, "but I did get you a Pin the Tail on the Donkey."

"Ugh!" she protested in disgust. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Come on out, I'll show it to you," he began, crossing the threshold and passing her to proceed to the back door.

She stormed out behind him. "Dad, I gave you a list of things I wanted! I even stopped nagging you for a car! I just wanted at least a gift card or something to get some new clothes!"

But he continued walking back toward the garage past the wooden fence, and Alkaline followed him, slamming the fence door open and continued badgering him.

"Is anyone even coming? Oh, we can pin the tail on the donkey and whack the pinata when they get here!" she ranted.

He laughed. "How did you know I got a pinana?"

"Oooh!" she began, but fell silent when her father turned around and handed her a small box.

"Open it," he said.

Falling quiet, she unwrapped the red paper from the package, but was even more confused by it's contents. A handheld radio?

"I said I wanted an iPod!" she shouted.

"But this one you can take on the go or plug up," he explained. "Here, let's take it into the garage and plug it in and make sure it works."

Nearly infuriated and one smartass sentence short on of a heartattack, Alkaline opened her mouth to let him have it until the garage door swung open, revealing her birthday present beneath a large, red ribbon. Her jaw fell farther. It was a charcoal colored 2002 Jeep Wrangler with alloy wheels, brand new tires, a 4x4, the paint glimmered at the sunlight entered the dark garage.

He slowly took her hand, as if she had become paralyzed, and led her to the side. Inside were beige leather seats, an mp3 stereo, custom speakers, gauges, the pedals, encased in chrome. The zip-down windows had been replaced with new plastic, and although it were seven years old, it couldn't have looked better if it had rolled right off of the assembly line, and lying in the driver's seat was a single key, attached to it a plastic case hanging from a chain, a picture of her and her father at the beach two summers ago. The back part was simply scribbled "Happy 18th Birthday".

Her eyes filled up with tears. She slowly looked to her father and smiled as she reached out to feel the smooth steering wheel. "I think I'll wash those dishes now."

Her father returned the favor. "That's what I thought."


	7. Early Morning Hangover

Alkaline left her home early the following morning, recovering still from the excitement hangover that left her in a half-sleep state. Still all the giddy the night before, she forgot to set her alarm clock, thus resulting in the test in acceleration of her new toy down the slow moving, crowded back road. She left her home at ten minutes until eight, and soon realized it would take her at least fifteen to twenty minutes to arrive at school at this rate.

Her legs were sticking to the leather seats, as she had forgotten to zip to the windows after taking a short cruise down her home street, and the humidity had come to take refuge. Wiggling back and forth to relieve the strange feeling under her, she stepped on the acceleration a little too hard and almost rear ended the vehicle in front of her. She slammed on the brakes, and decided that she had better turn on her low beams, as the vehicle behind her laid on the horn. The fog was unusually thick this morning.

Pulling out of the street, she whipped onto the high school campus, around the bend, and into her designated parking space. Shortly after cutting off the ignition and reaching into the back seat to grab her backpack, the melodious sound of the school bell could be heard across the deserted parking lot. With a groan, Alkaline checked to make sure the windows were securely zipped up from the inside, locked the door, and quickly walked for the building.

She heads into the nearest office to the left of the main entrance, labeled "Main Office" above the door. She leaned in on the door way too hard as she pushed through, and jarred the door against the back wall with a loud "thud", and the "other late students" turned to look at her, and all got quiet. Flushed, she quickly gets in line behind a taller young man to avoid the stares. Completely out of it, she isn't even aware of him speaking to her until he speaks her name.

"Alkaline!" he snaps.

"Oh, Marcus," she squeals. "I'm sorry, I'm not myself today."

He smiled forgivingly. "Its fine, I meant to get you this yesterday." He reached into his large, black tote that had music notes strung across the side of it, ruffled around it for a bit, and pulled out the new record by Guns and Roses. "Take a peek inside," he adds.

She did, looking into the casing, found a pressed red rose. Her eyes lit up. "You found a record for this? How did you get this? This is exactly what I wanted."

"Apparently, it's some phase that's coming back," he explained. "They've been making a lot more music on both CDs and vinyl tracks now, so I guess you're not the only vintage, weird chick around here."

Alkaline laughed lightly, and was delighted, but tried to act more nonchalant about the affair. She nodded and thanked him before the receptionist drew his attention away from her with an impatient remark. He took his tardy note, smiled at her, and quickly headed out the door.

Marcus Adams was a punk kind of kid, if you would. Wore the O.P. shoes, tight pants, baggy hoodies, and always wore a hat too big for his head, at least until one of the teachers called his attention to it. He was a fairly average height, but quite lanky and clumsy. He fitted under the stereotype as a skater, but really was more of a starving artist and more the inside type than the latter.

Alkaline really made friends with anyone who came up to her and was willing to be a friend, but really drew Marcus in with her dark eyes and skin, majestic personality, and unknown and mysterious background. The kids always had a thing or two to say about her appearing to have a Puerto Rican ethnicity and a white father. Marcus found her all the more interesting that way, but he wasn't really border line stalker or dangerous, but kind of cute, actually, but not necessarily Alkaline's type. She liked the more outdoorsy type guy, a guy who wanted to go fishing, camping, rock climbing, but maybe kind of shy. She hadn't had much luck so far, but she really wasn't in a hurry. She was much more of an independent person, and intended to be at the upcoming prom, as well.

Carefully sliding the newly received record into her backpack, she looks forward to retrieve her note, and leaves the office a little more quietly than she entered.


	8. A Dark Family Past

"So, we've finally got you some work, Damien," said Sister Catherine, looking up from her desk, she smiled. Damien made his way into her office and closed the door quietly behind him. "You'll be helping out at Deer Park off of Westchester for the 'Back to School' prom, where you will be serving drinks and snacks to the students," she continued.

"Is it really safe for me to be out in public?" Damien quipped, taking a chair in front of her as she continued speaking. He kept eye contact with her.

"Well, Damien, we've kept you sheltered in this monastery since you were born, not even to take you out in public to shop for clothes, take you to doctor's appointments or anything. Everything has been brought to you, and now, you're about to turn sixteen soon, aren't you?"

"When will I be working?" Damien first asked.

"August 6th, why?" Sister Catherine replied.

"Well, my birthday will be the next day..." Damien trailed off. But Sister Catherine smiled.

"It's all for the better, isn't it? You'll finally be coming out of your shell and around some people your own age."

"What if... some girl talks to me? I won't know how to handle myself." Damien suggested, turning his eyes toward the floor. He was rubbing his right forearm, running his fingers along the scars.

"You will never know until you try," Sister Catherine concluded, and stood to lead him out, but Damien had already taken the hint and headed for the door quickly. He nearly collided with an aged looking man in a tan trench coat, a coat similar to the man who had attended the day before, but this man seemed a little warmer than the previous, like he knew something about Damien's history.

"Hello, son," began the man.

"Do I know you?" Damien asked sharply.

"Douglas Cartland," the man simply replied, smiling in spite of the quick tone Damien had given him. "I'm a private investigator."

"May I help you?" asked Sister Catherine, opening her office door the whole way to get a glimpse of the conversation at hand. "We already had a P.I. come by yesterday," she said very as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Well, then, you may have some answers for me that he cleared up with you," Douglas began, brushing past the nun and into her office.

Appalled, and yet wanting to know that was going on, she too loudly slammed the door after she joined him.

"I can't allow you to just barge in here," she quipped.

"Lady, does it look like I'm barging?" Douglas questioned, taking out a cigarette to light it. Infuriated, the Sister snatched it away from him and broke it in half, dropped the pieces on the ground, and proceeded to crush them with her shoe. Douglas shook his head and sighed. "Do you want some information on Damien or not?"

Still in a fit of rage, Sister Catherine failed to hear him at first while she continued to clog dance on the tobacco, but then it registered to her what he has asked her, blinked, and quietly sat down in her old, leather-bound chair. She cleared her throat, and looked away while explaining to him, "I'm sorry, Damien hates fire."

"I know," Douglas began, "which is why I was coming to smoke in here." There was a pause, and then he continued. "As I mentioned to you, my name is Douglas Cartland, and I've been working on the case with the Gillespie bloodline for some time. I don't suppose you've ever heard of the Order?"

Without saying a word, Sister Catherine just nodded her head, leaned forward, and let the man continue.

So he did. "Dahlia Gillespie was head of the Order, a cult-like organization that gathered back when Silent Hill was one of the old mill towns of West Virginia. This was before we all knew about that bad old Black Lung Disease that killed off a lot of the miners, and many people who lost their families turned to the cult when they felt like God wasn't doing much good in making their husbands get any better.

"Even before this, *during the Civil War, the town served as a prisoner of war camp; after the end of the war, the building used to house prisoners was converted into a state penitentiary, and shortly thereafter, Silent Hill became a resort town. Around roughly the same period, a group of religious zealots founded a series of small doomsday cults based on some unnamed Native American tribe which occupied the land before settlers arrived. Collectively referring to themselves as "The Order", the cults, each of whom worshiped a different sub-deity, practiced human sacrifice and necromancy in an ongoing effort to resurrect "The God", an ancient deity which they believed would usher in an age of paradise by killing all humans.

"They were really just a bunch of doped up crazies," Douglas explained. "There was really no God, or Gods, but they were doing some crazy thing called White Claudia that made them have 'visions' of a Paradise to come."

Becoming impatient, Sister Catherine interrupted. "What does this have to do with Damien?"

"Well, you see, Miss," said Douglas, leaning back in his chair, "Dahlia's daughter was Alessa, who she thought was a pure and holy sacrifice to use to summon their God, and when Alessa was burned, yet still lived, her spirit was transformed into two deities, one who maintained the normal appearance of the town, and one who transformed the town into a living Hell. Alessa was reincarnated into Heather, my former client, who was went missing and is presumed dead. Her baby was born from Claudia---"

"Now you're not making any sense!" Sister Catherine yelled.

"---And that baby was Unique, which is Damien's mother."

Sister Catherine groaned, irritated, and folded her face into her hands. "Why are you telling me all of this? It makes no sense at all!"

"What I'm getting at, ma'am," Douglas began, leaning forward as if to tell an important secret, "is that Damien is very important to The Order. He's too close to Silent Hill, and needs to be somewhere further than where he is now or there will be a crisis."

"The only crisis I see is my head exploding from all of this gibberish that you've told me, none of it that makes any logical, rational, and definitely not Biblical sense! Besides, I'm not going to make Damien leave from here until he is comfortable. He can make his own decisions, he will be sixteen in a few days--"

"Then for God's sake, lady," Douglas snaps, pounding his fist on her desk, "He needs to leave immediately! The Order takes in boys when they turn sixteen and reinstate them into their cult! He could become their next sacrifice!"

"Mr. Cartland!" Sister Catherine states angrily, heading for the door, "The Order was broken up years ago when Silent Hill became a ghost town! No one has lived there since the Black Lung Epidemic and Tuberculosis killed hundreds of people in that hospital down there! Now, most of the town has burned to the ground!" Darting past him, she quickly swings open her office door and stands firm at the entrance, obviously making a statement for Mr. Cartland to leave. "Now, leave my office before I call the police!"

Before standing to leave, Douglas twists his neck to the left, cracks it, rotates it to the right, repeats, ruffles the collar of his trench coat, and proceeds to exit slowly. "Tell Mr. Kenneth Walker I said 'hello' if you see him again," and with not another word, hangs a left down the hallway and exits the side door of the building. The door slams behind him, echoing down the hall and into the sanctuary.

Eliza, who had been listening in on the end of the conflict, peeks down the other end of the adjacent hall and asks, "What happened?"

"Nothing, Eliza," the nun simply replies, and quietly returns to her paperwork in her office, shutting the door almost all the way behind her, and wipes her tears of anger from her eyes, controlling her shakes before she reaches for her office phone.

*Some of this information I obtained from facts about Silent Hill under Wikipedia.


	9. Friends in Slow Places

Alkaline quietly slipped into Mr. Thornheart's class, her first period class, which consisted of World History. He was noisily tapping away at the old black chalk board with a piece of chalk, pecking away at it as is broke away into shattered pieces, debris flying everywhere as he continued drawing chickenscratch across the wall. He was on the subject of Di Vinci and drawing some of his genius inventions, like he knew the class could make out exactly what he was drawing, but Mr. Thornheart was unaware that he had the artistic skills of a 7 year old, and the handwriting of a Kindergartener.

"What I am showing you here," he began, still digging away at the blackboard, "is Di Vinci's idea of the helicopter." He continued lecturing, but in a slightly lower volume as Alkaline took her seat next to Eliza, a newly starting freshman. World History was a little different than most other curriculum classes; depending of the student's schedule and course code, World History can either be taken by a freshman or senior, and unfortunately, Alkaline was the lucky winner to being the only senior in this particular group of freshman snots.

Eliza, however, she didn't mind. She pretty much stayed to herself and kept her eyes forward, almost the teacher's pet, without the showing off part, but believe me, you wouldn't want to be Mr. Thornheart's pet. You became his personal janitor and go-for. The misbehavees received less punishment in cleaning the blackboards and desks as Eliza had when she became the valedictorian of the class, but she really didn't seem to complain too much. Rather, she kind of liked the attention she was getting, as she fell back into her shell at the mere mention of any other men giving her attention.

This bothered Alkaline about Eliza, for she feared Eliza would become one of those girls who sold themselves short for the attention of the wrong guys instead of letting her own talents and beauty shine through, and she was beautiful. She was a short girl, but had a beautiful enlongated neck and fingers, which stood out with the rest of her delicate figure. Her breasts fell short of anything spectacular, but any man who kept his eyes from her face to stare anywhere else would be blind. She had an adorable pixie nose, plush lips, and round , emerald eyes, which were somewhat peculiar, as her right eye faded into a light blue as you neared the pupil, like it contained an inverted cataract. Her hair was thick and strawberry blonde, and trailed down to the middle of her back, where the last three inches or so curled wildly.

Smiling warmly, quietly placing her backpack on the ground, Alkaline whispered, "Yeah, and helicopters go round and round like Mr. Thornheart's lectures."

"The only thing that will be going round and round will be the 'zero' I put on your participation grade if you don't stop coming in tardy," Mr. Thornheart finished, still looking toward the blackboard. He turned around and placed the defeated chalk on his desk violently. "School has only been in session for one week and you've been tardy each and every day," he continued sternly.

"Well, I have my own vehicle now, so I won't have to worry about gramps getting me up here late," she said almost a little too arrogantly.

Nostrils flaring, Mr. Thornheart proceeded for her desk, stopped in the aisle, and knelled over whispering "Well, by law, until you graduate, if you have below a 'D' average in this or any class, your license can be taken away, so I suggest you leave home a little earlier or get on the bus. I pay enough on my taxes every year to support these buses to get you punks here to class on time, and don't get paid enough to put up with you," he concluded, a bead of sweat rolling down his receeding hairline.

He backed away from the desk, leaving condensation from his sweaty palms on Alkaline's desk, and she watched it evaporate within secnonds, then looked up to see him proceed to the other side of the room to the whiteboard. He picked up the vis-a-vis, and returned to taking his frustrations out on this poor, defenseless marker. The aroma of it bleeding and dying filled the air.

"I know that Di Vinci is closer to the back of your books," he began, "but I think he is such a fascinating man, and his inventions and ideas are those that need to be addressed, you may find me commonly skipping through your books, going back and forth, instead of straight through, as history tends to skip around and repeat itself."

Alkaline rolled her eyes. "Last time I checked, it stayed on a pretty particular timeline," she mumbled.

"And Alkaline, I want you to write a twenty page essay on the Holocaust and read the entire assessment, pages 103-156, explaining the torture the Jews endured if they did not obey orders, and I want it on my desk _tomorrow morning_, _on time_."

_Even the Jews didn't suffer this kind of torture_, Alkaline said, in her thoughts this time. _What's up with this guy? Does he have ears in the back of his head?_

"Class dismissed," he concluded, giving Alkaline a quick glare before she departed out the door, Alkaline returning the favor. It wasn't against the rules, so she could glare all she wanted. So, there.

Alkaline took a sharp left after leaving the classroom, then crossed through the hall and savana of busy students, and attemped her locker combination to rid herself of these evil books. Eliza joined her, now having a chance to speak to her, and smiled. "Just because you're the only senior in there doesn't mean to have to show off," she laughed.

Alkaline chuckled. "I'm not trying to, but he wants to go and pull something like that on me when all I'm speaking is the truth, then 'higher Hitler'!" She raised her arm as if in Nazi support, then marched in place stiffly.

Eliza laughed quietly. "I think he's just giving you a hard time because you are the only senior in there, and maybe he expects more of you."

"Well, all I know is that tomorrow will be a much better day... and evening." Alkaline smiled, finally winning the battle with her locker combination. She thrusted the pesky textbooks into the metal storage with a "clang" then slammed it shut. "You going to the prom?"

Although it was August, the school had recently started a "Back to School" prom to be continued until it didn't deem necessary due to the number of students who were finishing their credits early and could graduate half way through the year opposed to in May. The later April prom was still available also, and the students could attend both if they desired.

"I have no one to go with, and I can't go by myself since I'm a freshman," Eliza said, trailing off.

Alkaline smiled, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Well, why don't you and I go together?"

"You don't have a date?" Eliza pried.

"Nope, most of the guys here are already taking the cheerleaders," she replied sarcastically, "and the volleyball players, and the softball players, and the girls' basketball players... wanna know what they all have in common?"

Eliza remained quiet.

"Sexy legs," Alkaline said, irritated. "All show, and all blow, if you catch my drift."

"Uhm..." Eliza stated, beginning to ponder on what Alkaline said when she was interrupted.

"Come on, it'll be fine. I've got two tickets because I thought I would ask out Michael, but I chicked out, so don't think you're the only one that has bad luck with guys."

Eliza smiled, feeling appreciated and turned on her heels, flushed. "Well, next class is about to start, so I'll meet up with you later and I can get the tickets from you."

"Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?" Alkaline yelled out after her.

"I'm leaving early tomorrow, I have a doctor's appointment."

"Mind if I tag along?" Alkaline asked. "I feel like playing a little hookie tomorrow, and we'll take my car and go look at dresses, okay?"

Eliza smiled sheepishly. "Okay, I'll see you later, then."

Alkaline knelled down to retrieve her backpack, threw it over her shoulder, and followed the amoeba of kids down the hall, and merged into her next class as the bell rang.


End file.
